


A Field for Dissent Dandelions

by AlphaXGuardian



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 08:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12406440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaXGuardian/pseuds/AlphaXGuardian
Summary: ’Why are we burdened with their presence?’It was an offhand comment and he did not expect an answer. He got one nonetheless and the sincere seriousness in the other man’s voice made him pause, a slight chill caressing his spine.‘Because we should not create the monsters that roam the world at night dressed in a skin of rotten glory.’





	A Field for Dissent Dandelions

 

_Pace around in immediate peace_

_Stuttering and spouting truthful lies_

_Stepping over a field of dissent dandelions_

_Bravely spreading venomous seeds_

_Latching onto those prone to their diseases_

 

As she haughtily walks out and away from the offending atmosphere with a brisk step another pair of languidly placed footsteps mingles with her own. Another day and yet they will still not see to it, taking with it every semblance of righteousness only to have it returned as an ugly, jarred and contagious disease, easily latching onto gullible people who are ready to listen. She is just so sick of those preachers thinking they saw every possibly remaining part of the truth when all they really do is look trough a thumb sized keyhole into what they perceive is reality as whole. Ready to defend this reality of theirs they hunt down those who oppose it or even dare to point out its flaws and latch on them like the ignorant prey those unyielding eyes of theirs make them out to be.

The footsteps still following her own start to gain in speed and she suddenly turns with a scalding retort readily poised on her tongue to throw towards her silent follower. Yet the recognition of a way too familiar concerned face makes her hastily swallow the well crafted words and only then does she realize that her silent shadow is not so silent. He seems to be asking her of her well being and worry is carving itself deeply into the skin of his exhausted face.

This man should be the last person to heave even more emotional distress onto himself and now he does it again. How can they not see his endless struggles at redemption and ensuring that all he holds dear is safe and well? Ignorance truly is bliss it seems, because how would they be able to harm him even more if they saw the genuine feeling this very man is so easily capable of? But they are not willing to, do not even consider it a possibility that the high and mighty Iron Man might just be hiding behind this mask of a egocentric and snarky persona. Maybe some are too afraid to see what he is underneath those layers once they look closely enough. Without a second thought disregarding the very notion, content with what the media and shallow people provide them with and proceed to treat him with this limited knowledge. Yet they are oblivious that their viciously thrown daggers may not just always simply clink off his verbally indifferent armour, instead lodging themselves deeper with every well aimed throw. Why are they so intent on destruction when he never gave them enough reason to warrant such an onslaught? None of them are fully free of any kind of wrongdoings and it is never too late for forgiveness or at least acceptance if the offered second chance they are presented with teaches them of redemption.

Searching brown eyes focus on her own and she summons all the gentle feelings for him and lets a loving smile spread across her lips, hoping to alleviate his worries.

“What’s wrong Tony?”

At this the man seems to calm significantly and a genuine smile of his own lights up his tired features, one that she recognizes as one of the very rare displays of emotions only reserved for her. She knows to treasure these moments as they are the only ones when he abandons his well crafted ideals, drilled deep down into the core of his being. The very ideals telling him, a human being to ever and always swallow every emotion close to remorse, sadness or love like a barbed wire without so much as a second thought. What a maliciously destructive storm must be raging in this man, sometimes igniting in his eyes with an overwhelming intensity, yet never long enough to catch for those who do not watch these lonely brown eyes with her scrutiny.

He continues to watch her peacefully with slight uneasiness creasing his features while the silence is wading between them, bringing more mellow comfort than any carefully chosen words could.

She knows that she cannot gently comfort him any more in the way he may want deep down within his emotional vault, keeping the truth locked from plain sight. Yet she can see, because she saw the cracks in his carefully chosen masks once. What you once see you cannot simply unsee, especially when you care to look more than just once.

Their silent reverie is suddenly disrupted upon the arrival of another set of brisk footsteps and its owner in all his American glory. They knew venomous strings of words to leave his thinned lips before he decided to cease his well rehearsed march. Footsteps stilled, determination still burns brightly in their steely gazes, silent tries for persuasion are fiercely traded like deadly bullets. Soon tainted daggers would follow, each closer to sever their fragile connection. Daggers thrown more viciously with each failed attempt.

She had to take him away, desperation already flickered on his face once, allowing the truth to escape mere moments ago. What would normally be seen as an usual jab has been so much more, the sentence so easily spoken and yet conveying so much emotion of an unspoken past was still haunting her in silence. ‘God I hate you so much.’

From such a confession it could only get worse and the straightening stance of the blue eyed glorious man was already promising an unrelenting storm upon his very own teammate, lashing out with vicious words he knew only to use to demand and receive what he wanted. But was he really?

Was he really still a teammate? Only focused on what he thought was right, forcing others to see the wrong where he saw it. Yet was it only his fault? So many people have already relied on him, always seeking out his opinion, looking up to him, idolizing him. Without stumbling like his confronted teammate it was no wonder he still felt entitled to pursue his opinion. After all he was in so many eyes the embodiment of America and freedom itself. Who could they blame? Only those who obliviously pulled their strings, watching the pulls blossom into something grotesquely glamorous. Like puppets dancing on highly strung strings, weaving excuses and responsibilities.

With a slight chill she suddenly recalls a conversation she overheard mere weeks ago when the conflict was so very close to ignite.

.........

There was only a heavily unusual absence of conversation staining the stale air and she advanced towards the door, expression morphing into that of a strict mother until an even heavier question left a man’s thinned lips. She stilled. It was rhetorical and there was no answer, not even one the familiar Italian would know how to respond to and it was not a question to be answered.

’Why are we punished with their presence?’

It was an offhand comment and he surely did not expect an answer. He got one nonetheless and the sincere seriousness in the other man’s voice made her pause, a slight chill caressing her spine.

‘Because we should not create the monsters that roam the world at night dressed in a skin of rotten glory.'

.........

“Tony.” she states firmly but softly and urgently tugs at his arm. He snaps out of their silent argument and turns to her, alerted to the grave seriousness in her voice and finds concern marrying her lovely features. Before the dark haired man can react she turns to the other occupant of the narrow and dimly lit hallway. “Captain, if you’ll excuse us.”

As the blond man prepares to flood the distance between them with something that would surely soil the current atmosphere even further, clearly dismayed by her sudden interruption she cuts his attempts off once more, years as CEO had taught her how to avoid wasting time on petty arguments which surely would not benefit anyone.

“We still have a lot to work on, especially now that more problems arouse.” She briefly glances to their American hero while throwing a scalding blame his way with a look on her face that portrays more than any words could. She swiftly turns around, her hand gently touching the elbow of the brown eyed man, a silent plea to follow her. A sigh escapes his lips and an adoring expression follows, a bittersweet longing heaving trough the depths of his dark tainted amber eyes. They were moments like this that made her understand why so many stated that eyes were the windows to a soul.

“Well Captain, you heard her, I’m a busy man, gotta keep my company afloat. If something’s bothering you give me a ring. Actually don’t, as long as it isn’t world threatening like Romanoff showing emotions or Fury playing nice don’t bother.” He turns around with a showman’s flourish, his ever so confident stride accented by the lightly sharp clicks of the woman’s heels, filling their growing distance with sharp sounds, cutting off any remaining attempts at forming words.

Their exchange has been brief and short, thoughts firing trough her head at an impeccable speed of mere seconds, but to the redhead it may as well have been an eternity. She knew it was not over and hell would follow. But if it followed the broken man she loved dearly as a brother then she would stay at his side and make sure to freeze it over before it can destroy him even more.

They will continue this meticulously dangerous dance of truth and lie. Until one lives a hero. And the other dies a villain. One having lived to mask his inner pain, yet not the countless mistakes. The other having lived to mask the truth, webs of lies being spun almost as intricately as the widow’s own. Two different sides of the very same medallion.

Fighting for approval from a world so merciless, never ceasing this dance.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story and my try at a somewhat more heartfelt angle of what may have transpired in the infamous "Civil War" if Pepper would have been there with Tony to face the conflicts. I feel like they should weather this storm together, Tony needs an anchor in such times and Pepper is his safety net.


End file.
